The Captive Flame: Brotherhood of the Griffon • Book 1 Page 21

  He trusted his fire-touched eyes to reveal the presence of concealed doors and the like, but there didn’t seem to be any of those either. Just stone stairs in plain sight descending into the floor. He headed down and came to a door in the form of a wrought-iron grille. He tried it, and it was locked.

  He scowled. Jhesrhi could likely have opened the lock without breaking it. Gaedynn might have found a way as well. Both were better suited to spying than their commander, which was why Aoth had sent them into Threskel. But he regretted their absence now.

  Well, he’d just have to proceed as best he could. He slipped the point of his spear into the crack above the latch, then pried, releasing a bit of the power stored inside the weapon to make the action more forceful. The grille lurched open with a snap.

  He swung it shut again behind him. With luck, no one would notice the damage before morning at the earliest. He climbed down the remaining steps.

  Which put him in a musty-smelling room with brick walls and a few old boxes scattered around. He stalked through an arch into a second rectangular space like the first.

  Another grille separated the second room from a third. On the other side were coffers, jars, urns, and icons, some of the latter depictions of the Morninglord and thus no longer suitable for veneration. The wealth of the temple, locked away for safekeeping.

  Aoth broke open the new barrier and explored the repository. No matter how intently he peered at the contents, and at the ceiling, walls, and floor, he still couldn’t find any trace of what he sought. And there was nowhere else to look, not down here anyway.

  Warm golden light bloomed at his back. As he pivoted toward the doorway, it brightened. By the time he faced it, it was like looking directly at the sun.

  Unfortunately, glare was one thing that could still impair his vision. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he leveled the spear with the other. “Stop what you’re doing. I don’t have to see you to hurt you.”

  “I vouched for you,” Cera said, from inside the dazzling light or beyond it. “I told everyone you were honorable and came here to protect us. And you get up out of my bed and slink down here to steal Amaunator’s treasure!”

  He wondered if she truly believed that. “You’re wrong. That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “Then drop your spear and surrender, and afterward we’ll sort it out.”

  “I can’t do that.” She might kill him once she had him disarmed.

  “Then this is your own fault.”

  The blaze in the doorway seemed to leap at him, engulf him, and pain seared him. He willed a tattoo to life, and its enchantment dulled the agony. Maybe it even kept him from bursting into flame.

  He growled a word of power, and a thunderclap boomed through the cellar. Hoping it had at least staggered Cera, he charged the doorway. And slammed into the grille. He’d left it open, so the priestess must have closed it and the glare kept him from noticing.

  He rebounded and fell on his rump. The grille squeaked on its hinges and clanked against the wall. Footsteps pattered in his direction.

  Cera evidently hoped the impact had left him dazed or disoriented, but though his head throbbed, it hadn’t. He could judge where she was, and he raised the spear to spit her. Then he flung himself to the side instead. Something, likely her golden mace, banged against the floor.

  He scrambled, turned, and then he was facing her with his back to the glare. He was still half blind with floating smears of afterimage, but at least he could make out her silhouette and see that she had indeed armed herself with her mace and targe.

  As he sprang to his feet, he feinted at her face with the spear. The round shield jerked up to block in a way that more or less blinded her. She was resourceful and commanded potent magic, but she was no expert at hand-to-hand combat.

  He reversed the spear and swept her feet out from under her with the blunt end. She thumped down on the floor. He spun the weapon again and touched the point to her throat.

  “Let go of the mace and shield,” he said.

  She did.

  “Now push them away.”

  The articles scraped along the floor.

  “Now put out the light in the doorway.”

  She blinked. “I won’t be able to see.”

  “That’s all right. I will.”

  The glare went out.

  “This isn’t over,” she said.

  “It is if I kill you and nobody finds out who did it.”

  Her voice quavered, but only a little. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

  He sighed and rubbed the sore spot on his forehead. “I don’t know yet. I’m poking around down here because I don’t know much of anything. And at first that was fine with me. I figured, let the nobles have their secrets and conspiracies. Let them plunge the whole East into war, for any stupid reason or none at all. From a sellsword’s perspective, nothing could be better.”

  “But after two attempts on your life, you changed your mind.”

  “Basically. Like I told you, assassination is just a move in the game we soldiers play. But dragonborn assassins, in a town where there have never been any dragonborn? And a special kind of dragonborn at that? It’s just too odd. Even leaving my own safety out of it, it shows there’s too much going on that I don’t understand. And that could lead to problems on the battlefield.”

  She frowned, evidently mulling over what he’d said, then asked, “Given the magic they use, couldn’t the dragonborn have sneaked into the city from outside?”

  “Maybe,” said Aoth, “but from where outside? Threskel? As far as we know, there aren’t any there either. All the way from Tymanther? And why are the damn reptiles targeting me anyway? I’m a good soldier, but not all that important. By the Hells, if you heard how I broke my contract with Aglarond, marched into Thay, took heavy losses, and retreated without seeming to accomplish anything—and then suffered another defeat in Impiltur—you might not even realize I am good.”

  “It’s a puzzle,” she said, “but what prompted you to look for answers in my temple’s cellars?”

  “I’m working on the assumption that unlikely as it sounds, someone in Soolabax is hiding the dragonborn and aiding them in general. Now, who was surprisingly friendly and flirtatious with me from the start?”

  “I was, but not to deflect suspicion or trick you into lowering your guard. Because you intrigued me. I grew up in Luthcheq, not a sleepy farm town. I’ve come to like the people who live here, but to be honest, they often bore me too. And you were an exotic stranger who’d consorted with kings and archmages and fought his way across the world.”

  “When you took me for that stroll on the battlements, it gave the first assassin a chance to weaken the steps. And when I stopped short, you bumped me from behind. It almost pitched me forward and made me fall.”

  “But only almost, because I wasn’t trying. And as for the other, well, it wasn’t the first time you’d climbed to the top of the gate to look out over the countryside. The dragonborn just lurked nearby and waited for his chance.”

  “Well, he and his friends got a second chance when you hosted the feast and then drew me out into the garden. You even held me down so I wouldn’t see them coming. And then, after I sent you for help, you and the other sunlords didn’t make it back till the fight was over.”

  “Because Jet arrived to help you, and then the two of you finished it quickly. And as for the rest, I swear by the Yellow Sun it was only coincidence or the reptiles watching and waiting for their chance. The banquet was no more a secret than your visits to the gate.”

  “No matter what you say, it doesn’t change the fact that the dragonborn have come at me twice, and you’ve been there both times.”

  “And if I’d used my magic against you, they would have killed you for certain.”

  “Not for certain. And if I survived, I would have known you for my enemy.”

  She scowled. “Listen, idiot. I’m a priestess of the lord of Eternal Sun. One of the supreme powers of righte
ousness. I wouldn’t do something treacherous and evil.”

  “You might if you thought it served a greater good. Like your superior believes it’s his duty to persecute wizards and lay curses on marchers in the street.”

  “Earlier tonight, couldn’t you feel how much I truly liked you?”

  She must have been running out of arguments, because that was the weakest one yet. No man could live a hundred years without learning how many women could feign affection convincingly.

  Yet taken altogether, her arguments carried more weight, especially considering that his search hadn’t turned up anything. And who knew, maybe he had felt something genuine between them. Just not strongly enough to negate what seemed abundant reason for suspicion.

  “All right.” He lifted the spear away from her throat and roused the power in it to make the point glow and give her light. “I guess that whoever’s out to get me, it isn’t you.” He extended his hand to help her up.

  She swatted it away and stood up on her own.

  He frowned. “I thought you ‘truly liked’ me.”

  “I did. Before you seduced me to create an opportunity to ransack Amaunator’s house.”

  “I seduced you?”

  Her mouth twitched. Like a smile had momentarily tried to replace the glower? “I suppose that isn’t fair. Still, you tricked me!”

  Aoth sighed. “For what it’s worth, I honestly liked you too, before I started to worry about you. If you want revenge, you can complain to Hasos and write to Nicos, Daelric, and the war hero.”

  “And if it got you and your cutthroats kicked out of Soolabax, or out of Chessenta entirely, how would that help us when Threskel comes in force?”

  “Well, there’s that.”

  She brushed some of her tousled blonde curls away from her eyes. “You have your own little army. Instead of sneaking around looking for dragonborn by yourself, why not use it to search the whole town house to house?”

  “The enemy might see us coming and get away. Or they may not really be here in the first place. And if I didn’t turn up anything, it would anger people who already didn’t trust me to begin with.”

  “Hm. I see your point.”

  “Also, when my comrades and I tracked down the Green Hand Killers in Luthcheq, the bastards burned their papers and mystical insignia. I don’t want the dragonborn in Soolabax to have the same opportunity.”

  “I already said I see your point, and I’ll help you. It’s my duty as a sunlady and one of the town’s protectors.”

  “I appreciate the offer. But if you mean you’ll help me with some sort of divination, we tried that in Luthcheq and it didn’t work.”

  “With the Keeper’s help, we’ll think of something. Just don’t imagine it means I want you back in my arms. You spoiled that for good and all.”

  “I understand.”

  Her scowl deepened. Turning on her heel, she willed a flood of golden light into being as if to spurn even the glow he’d conjured for her convenience.

  * * * * *

  The mare’s eyes rolled. Gaedynn whispered reassurance, clung to the animal’s halter with one hand, and stroked her neck with the other.

  He and Jhesrhi had ridden their stolen mounts past the point of exhaustion. She’d laid charms of calmness and obedience on them. By rights they should have been stolid as a pair of stones, but they weren’t. Not under the circumstances. And if they made too much noise, or bolted out from under the oak that shielded them from the sky, Jaxanaedegor would surely spot them.

  He might do it anyway. Dragons had keen senses, and Gaedynn suspected those of a vampiric dragon were sharper still. Conceivably sharp enough to pierce Jhesrhi’s spell of concealment.

  Gaedynn abruptly realized the wyrm was overhead again. Perhaps, peering through the tangled branches, he saw a star vanish as the undead hunter glided in front of it. But mostly he felt the proximity of a malice profound enough to turn his mouth dry and make him shudder.

  His horse trembled too. She tried to toss her head, and then whickered. He wondered if he should kill her, or if that would make even more noise.

  Then, up in the sky, leathery wings cracked like a whip. The overpowering sense of vileness faded. Either Jaxanaedegor was a little deaf by dragon standards, or else Jhesrhi’s magic had kept him from hearing the whinny. In any case, he was flying away.

  The sellswords kept silent. If the wyrm was still looking for them, he might swing close again, depending on the search pattern. But that didn’t happen, and Gaedynn finally decided it wasn’t going to.

  “I have to admit,” he said, “there are moments when it looks like you’re starting to get the hang of sorcery.”

  Jhesrhi grunted. “We were lucky. Can you find us something to eat?”

  “If you’ll take charge of my horse, I’ll be happy to try.”

  “Do you want light?”

  “Let’s not lean too hard on that luck you mentioned.” Wishing it were later in the year, alternately standing straight and stooping low, he started examining the tree limbs, shrubs, and roots in their vicinity.

  “So what now?” Jhesrhi asked abruptly.

  He glanced back at her. “I thought you just requested a late supper.”

  “I mean tomorrow.”

  “We flee back to Soolabax, I suppose.”

  “What about our mission?”

  He thought he glimpsed the round pale caps of mushrooms, took a step closer, and saw they were actually toadstools. Damn it. “Our mission is considerably more dangerous now that Jaxanaedegor knows about it.”

  “He didn’t seem to think it likely that the dragon in the Sky Riders really is Tchazzar. And he may not think we’re reckless enough to still go there.”

  Gaedynn smiled, not because of anything she’d said, but because he spotted helmthorn vines. He took another pace and, as he’d hoped, saw berries. They were still in the process of ripening from green to indigo, but in a pinch a person could eat the tart fruit anyway.

  Trying not to prick himself on the long black thorns—he already had one gash on his hand!—he started picking them and putting them in the pouch on the orc guard’s sword belt. “Then our former host is right on both counts. The dragon, if there even is one, isn’t Tchazzar, and I’m not foolhardy enough to keep looking for it.”

  “Let’s assume the worst.”

  “By all means, since it’s what keeps happening.”

  As usual, the interruption annoyed her—he could hear it in her voice. “Jaxanaedegor will go look for the dragon or send someone to do it. But he never got around to asking us exactly where in the Sky Riders it is. That means we can find out the truth and get away before anyone else shows up.”

  As he finished picking the berries, he spotted something else interesting and headed for it. “That’s insanely optimistic, but let’s continue in the same spirit and see where it leads us. Say we do find Tchazzar. Say he is still interested in protecting Chessenta. Do you really think Lord Nicos or anyone else will be able to free an ancient wyrm from whatever it is that’s strong enough to hold him?”

  “I don’t know. I just know Aoth entrusted us with a task.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t just bent on testing yourself against Threskel? On proving you’re a courageous, capable person here or anywhere? Because you already did that, in Mourktar and again inside the volcano.”

  Jhesrhi kept silent for several heartbeats. When she spoke again, her voice was ice. “That has nothing to do with it.”

  He sighed. “Of course it doesn’t. And we’ll go to the Sky Riders if you think it best.” He straightened up and, keeping one hand behind him, walked back to her. “I’ve got helmthorn berries. And these.” He bowed and held out the violets he’d found. “I’m not entirely sure how long we were chained up in the dark, but I think it may be Greengrass night.”

  Making sure her hand didn’t come into contact with his, she took the flowers. “You never stop striking poses.”

  Gaedynn grinned. “Well, as yo
u pointed out yourself, it serves me better than sincerity.”

  * * * * *

  The giants had raided deep into Tymanther, burning villages and fields to raise the smoke Khouryn and his companions had noticed on their way to Djerad Thymar. But—so far at least—the marauders kept retreating back to the Black Ash Plain, and so the vanquisher’s warriors had gone to seek them there.

  Which was to say, to a gray wasteland where only sparse grass and twisted shrubs grew and smoke rose from cracks in the ground. The air stank of combustion, and drifting flecks of ash stung the eye. To either side towered freestanding columns of solidified ash. Though as a dwarf, Khouryn had a reasonable knowledge of earth, stone, and fire, he couldn’t imagine what natural process created the things. Or set a couple of the more distant ones sliding like tokens on a game board without toppling over or breaking apart. It couldn’t be the wind. They were moving in opposite directions.

  Riding on Khouryn’s left, Balasar turned his head and smiled. “Like the scenery?”

  “I’ve seen it before,” Khouryn answered, and that was more or less true. He’d traveled the Dustroad. But it had become clear that if a person kept to the highway, he never quite found out just how strange and unwelcoming these particular badlands actually were.

  The Lance Defenders were on the road or near it, where they hoped to engage the largest horde of ash giants. Like most of the companies fielded by one clan or another, the thirty Daardendrien warriors and their one dwarf ally were ranging through the heart of the barrens to intercept smaller bands of enemy raiders before they reached the dragonborn lands beyond.

  Riding on the other side of Balasar, his black surcoat marked with the six white circles of Daardendrien but his heater shield bearing the right-hand gauntlet emblem of Torm, Medrash asked, “Are you sorry you came?”

  Khouryn assumed some note of glumness or sourness in his voice had prompted the question. “I won’t be if our side defeats the giants fast enough for me to pay a visit home.”

  But he suspected that was unlikely. And as for the notion that he might penetrate sinister secrets opaque to everyone else, well, that had seemed a little plausible back in Djerad Thymar, when he was a little drunk. But now that he’d sobered up it seemed ridiculous, and not just because a fellow wasn’t apt to learn much about schemes and conspiracies while stuck in the middle of a godscursed wasteland.